Wide of the Mark
by TheCoatedShade
Summary: Sherlock Holmes moves to the country and is pushed to court Irene Adler, although his has no interest in her, or anyone at all for that matter, except one John Watson, who is tolerable...
1. Chapter 1

He was a tall, handsome man. He had what all women were looking for: good looks, a clever mind and a large fortune. He held himself with grace and always wore the best clothes, but what he had in these, he lacked in manners, and often, in empathy. He did not care for social standards and what was proper, but with a lot of fierce encouragement from his older brother, he acted as if he did hold these things in some regard. This man, sitting by the window in his black armchair, fiddling with his violin, was Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes was being forced out of his home. His brother had purchased a property in the country, and had decided that he and Sherlock were to move there, in order to 'rid their lungs of the London air'. It was also some kind of endeavour for Sherlock to 'socialize and meet new people'. Sherlock had agreed to go, only because he knew there was no getting out of it. Sherlock knew he would have no hope to make new acquaintances, and he really didn't mind this fact. He was moving to the country with his brother Mycroft to prove to him that he could try to change Sherlock, but it would never work. He would always be the unsociable, strange man who often made people uncomfortable, and he would never find a woman who interested him enough to marry.

John Watson and his sister Harriet had lived in Knightly Estate with their parents since they were born. Only for the last year had their cousin, Irene Adler, been staying with them since her father had passed away, and the Watsons were her next of kin. Over the past few weeks, Mrs Watson had been pestering Irene to find a husband, as Harriet was already married and Irene was already eighteen years old. It was crucial for Irene to find a husband as soon as possible, as she had no inheritance, so she needed to wed a man with a fortune. She had had several suitors, but they all left disappointed, as Irene was a very stubborn and opinionated young woman, which often drove men away.

John Watson had recently been introduced to a young woman named Mary Morstan. She had a few suitors, but Mrs Watson pushed John to see her as frequently as possible, as she was a kind woman with a good heart.

"Have you heard?" Harriet entered the dining room.

"Heard what?" asked Mrs Watson.

"A Mr Holmes has purchased Crowley Estate. He's just moved in with his brother."

"How's that Irene? Two brothers!" Mrs Watson beamed in Irene's direction.

Irene gave a dismissive nod and went back to her breakfast.

"How old are they?" Mrs Watson inquired.

"I think the youngest is one and twenty."

"How do you know all this?" John asked, perplexed by his sister's knowledge of two men who had only just arrived that very same day.

"Phillip went over to meet them this morning."

Phillip was Harriet's husband of four years. He liked to be in the loop of things and often stuck his nose in other people's business; not that John ever commented on it.

"Well, he'll have to introduce us." Mrs Watson smiled, and Irene groaned quietly.

It were times like these that John was extremely glad that he wasn't a woman and didn't have to worry so much about getting married. He was five and twenty years old, but if he wanted to, he could be a bachelor all his life, although his mother disapproved of this notion.

"You should meet them too John, it'll be good for you to have some friends you can go riding and shooting with." Mrs Watson suggested.

"Indeed." John replied, hoping to put the matter at rest for the time being.

"I don't know why you're making such a big fuss about your armchair Sherlock; there are plenty of other seats already here." Mycroft said, annoyed.

"It was my favourite armchair. It was very comfortable and good for thinking in. We should have brought it with us on the carriage." Sherlock collapsed on the new house's drawing room sofa childishly.

"What a ridiculous notion." Mycroft smirked at his brother's stupidity.

"I also don't understand why that Anderson fellow felt the need to come and talk to us. Couldn't he see we were busy? Can't we just be left in peace? This is the country; I thought it was meant to be more peaceful than in town."

"It is indeed the country, but people who live in the country like to know everybody, and you shall like to know them also."

Sherlock snorted. "I should not. How boring people are, with their 'How do you do' and 'It's a pleasure to meet you'."

"That is normal civility, which I have talked to you about, so you shall also be civil." Mycroft spoke in his warning tone.

The Holmes brothers followed Mr Anderson to Knightly Estate on horseback. They were going to be introduced to the Watsons, and their niece Irene Adler. They got off their horses and Anderson tapped the door knocker three times before a servant led them inside. They were led to Knightly Estate's drawing room, where the Watsons were situated.

"Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, this is Mrs Watson," a plump woman with blonde curls gave an excited nod. "Mr Watson," a short man with a moustache gave a gruff nod. "John," a young, short man with sandy hair smiled and nodded. "my wife, Harriet," a short, light brown haired woman gave a quick mouth twitch in the Holmes' direction. "and Miss Irene Adler," A young woman with dark brown hair curtseyed nervously. "and this is Mycroft Holmes," Mr Anderson gestured to Mycroft, who stood tall and proud with his cane. "and his younger brother, Sherlock." Sherlock gave a curt nod.

Sherlock and Mycroft were invited to stay for luncheon, much to Sherlock's dismay. During lunch, Mrs Watson asked most of the questions, and Sherlock left it to Mycroft to do most of the answering. After luncheon, they gathered in the drawing room for coffee; Sherlock sitting down on the sofa, shortly after being joined by John, and then Irene on the far left.

"Mr Holmes," John started. "do you enjoy riding?"

"It is tolerable." Sherlock answered without moving his gaze.

"Shooting?" John offered.

"I am not very good at it." Sherlock took a quick sip of his coffee.

"What do you enjoy doing?"

"Solving crimes." Sherlock answered shortly.

"Solving crimes? Do you mean to say that you are a detective?" John asked, suddenly intrigued.

Irene moved closer to listen in to the conversation.

"Of sorts. I am not officially a detective. What I mean to say is that I do not work for the police, but I do assist them."

"What do you mean?" Irene asked.

John turned to look at her, surprised at her interest.

"I am a consulting detective."

"I've never heard of it." Irene said.

"You wouldn't have. I am the only one. I assist Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard with many of his cases. The police are more often than not incapable of solving the crimes themselves."

"So you do this work for them without payment?" Irene asked.

"Oh yes. I don't need any more money, and the results are enough of a reward for me."

"You are quite intriguing." John remarked.

"Well…" Sherlock started. "You could come to a case some time, if you please."

Irene looked wide-eyed and disappointed that she wasn't offered this excursion.

"I don't know if that would be very appropriate." John remarked. "Not to mention what my mother would think of me attending a crime scene by choice."

"Suit yourself." Sherlock took a long sip from his coffee, and set down the empty cup, getting up from his seat to speak to his brother. "Mycroft," he mumbled in his brother's ear. "I've had quite enough talk for one night, I should like to go now."

"Quite." Mycroft replied quietly to Sherlock, before clearing his throat. "Thank you for a wonderful evening; it was a pleasure to meet you all. I'm afraid we must be off, but I'm sure we will see each other again in no time at all."

"The pleasure was ours; you are welcome back any time." Mrs Watson smiled widely.

Sherlock nodded in John and Irene's direction before turning to leave.

"That was tedious." Sherlock remarked as he and Mycroft were on the driveway.

"Do try to give them a chance, Sherlock," Mycroft replied. "we won't find any better company."


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**I do try to do longer chapters, but with no luck.**  
**This is another plot point from Pride and Prejudice. I think there will be just one more, then the rest of the plot points will be either by me, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss (as I will be referencing a case)**

The Watsons were sat around the dining table the next morning and of course, Mrs Watson had brought up the subject of the Holmes'.

"He's a detective!" Irene beamed.

Mrs Watson gave her a questioning look. "Gentlemen don't work, dear."

"It's not his job really. He assists the police out of his own good will. I think it's rather admirable."

John sighed to himself. Of course Irene had to bring it up. Sometimes John feared she had little tact. Mrs Watson would consider Mr Holmes' 'hobby' to be ungentlemanly, and possibly even vulgar, if she ever found out anything about him being in the presence of corpses.

"Please excuse me; I'm going to go for a walk. I might see if Miss Mary is home." John stood up from his seat.

John fetched his hat and left.

Sherlock was sprawled across the sofa, his hair messy and his jacket askew.

"Don't lounge about, Sherlock; it's improper." Mycroft ordered.

"It is so dull here; I want to go back to London." Sherlock demanded.

"I think you need some time away from death and crime; it can't be good for health to be surrounding yourself in it constantly."

"But I enjoy being surrounded by death and crime."

Sherlock missed the thrill of a new case; the searching for new clues and the puzzle solving. It stimulated his mind and gave him use. In the country he felt absolutely pointless.

One of the Morstans' servants let John inside, and led him to the drawing room.

"Mr Watson to see Miss Mary." The servant reported.

"Mr Watson!" Miss Mary chimed. "It is a delight to see you again."

"Likewise." John replied. "Would you care to join me for a walk?"

"Certainly; I will just change into my walking clothes."

Mary left the drawing room. In her absence, John chatted to Mrs Morstan, who informed him about an upcoming ball.

"Oh yes, you will come, won't you?" Mary asked as she re-entered the room.

John turned to her. "Of course; it should be an enjoyable event, I imagine."

Eventually Sherlock decided that he couldn't lounge about all day, so he straightened out his clothes, put on his hat and went out for a walk. He didn't tell Mycroft in case he wanted to come along; he wasn't in the mood for a lecture about mannerisms and such. He walked along the road for about twenty minutes when he saw two figures approaching him. He kept his head down and kept walking hoping he'd be left in peace.

"Mr Holmes,"

Sherlock looked up. It was John Watson with a female companion.

"Good morning, Mr Watson." Sherlock gave a slight attempt at a smile.

"Mr Holmes, this is Miss Mary Morstan." Mr Watson gestured toward his blonde companion, who curtseyed.

Sherlock nodded.

"Are you walking anywhere in particular?" Mr Watson asked.

"No, just getting some fresh air." Sherlock explained. "How about you?" he added, as he thought of his brother's nagging to be 'polite'.

"Quite the same really; by all means, walk with us." Mr Watson offered.

Sherlock frowned. "I am sorry, but I must refuse; I don't think I would be very good company."

"Maybe some other time."

"Have you heard about the ball tomorrow?" Miss Mary added.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Yes, you will come, won't you? It would probably be considered snobbish not to come." John smirked.

_Clever move. _Sherlock thought. John Watson had trapped him, so if he refused the offer he would be considered a snob. He had no choice in the matter. "Alright then."

"I'll pick you up on the way." Mr Watson smiled. "Good day."

"We're going to a ball tomorrow." Sherlock announced when he arrived back home.

Mycroft looked up from his paper. "Splendid. You remember how to dance, I take it?"

"Of course I do."

"And you will need a partner."

Sherlock groaned.

"Well you can't very well dance by yourself; you'd look ridiculous. Dance with Miss Irene; you're already introduced."

The next day, Sherlock prepared for the ball. Truthfully, he did rather enjoy dancing, but he just wished he didn't have to do it with a partner, as that made it a social activity, which was something he wasn't really fond of. Mycroft was also getting ready, but he most likely wouldn't be dancing, which to Sherlock, was extremely unfair.

The Watsons' carriage arrived right on time, much to Mycroft's satisfaction. They climbed in and were greeted by John Watson, Mary Morstan and Miss Irene. The carriage ride only took around fifteen minutes; they walked inside together and the mingling began. Sherlock stood around the edge of the dance floor for a while before Mycroft nagged him to ask Miss Irene to dance. He found her in the crowd and cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Could I have this dance?" he asked.

"You may." She smiled, and he took her hand.

They joined the other dancers and although Sherlock didn't speak a word, Irene kept staring at him, looking delighted. Any other man would have thought she looked very pretty, but Sherlock wasn't one to notice beauty. She was wearing a pale green gown, with her hair tied back, her dark brown curls dangling down her back. She moved gracefully while dancing, never taking her eyes off her partner. Sherlock stared back, but not with admiration or delight, just a plain stare which he often had when he was concentrating. It was obvious she was attracted to him, and it was for this reason that Sherlock hoped she didn't assume anything of him asking her to dance. He was not trying to court her, only trying to please his brother.

When the dance finished, Sherlock bowed, then returned to Mycroft.

John had just finished dancing with Mary when he left the dance floor to get a drink for him and Mary. He passed by the Holmes brothers who were in conversation.

"What are your thoughts on Miss Irene?" Mycroft Holmes asked conversationally.

"She's not good enough to tempt me." Sherlock Holmes replied.

John had half a mind to speak up about this rudeness, but he decided against it. He fetched two drinks and remarked to himself that Sherlock Holmes was the rudest, most unsociable person he'd ever met.


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the wait; Ive started school again after my summer holidays, and it's been draining all the energy out of me.**  
**This is one of those chapters that makes me go "ugh". I don't like it, but it's needed as part of the story, so here it is.**

Sherlock slept for longer than what would be considered acceptable; the events from the previous night had worn him out. There was also the fact that sleeping longer made the day pass quicker too, which was a good thing in Sherlock's eyes. He finally went down for breakfast at about ten thirty, instructing one of the maids to bring him something to eat.

"Sleeping so far into the day isn't decent." Mycroft always seemed to have an introductory comment as he entered a room.

"I'll do as I please." Sherlock stretched out of the chair.

He received a dangerous look from his brother.

"I have invited Miss Irene and Mr Watson for luncheon today, so don't eat too much now."

Sherlock sighed deeply as he stared outside. The sky was dark and rain pattered against the long window.

"It would be greatly appreciated if you informed the Watsons that I have absolutely no interest in Miss Irene and to be frank, no interest in any of the family; and that all invitations and such come from you and you alone."

"I imagine you would appreciate that." Mycroft smirked to himself.

"You're intolerable." Sherlock got up and left for the drawing room, planning to find a mildly interesting novel to read.

About two hours later while in the drawing room, Sherlock saw through the window, none other than John Watson, on horseback, riding in the rain.

_The man has a death wish. _Sherlock thought to himself. He put away his novel and made his way to the foyer so he could let the man inside himself. John Watson was about to use the door knocker when Sherlock pulled the door open, revealing a surprised look on Mr Watson's face.

"Hello." He said, water dripping from his hair.

"What on Earth were you thinking?" Sherlock replied abruptly.

"To be quite honest with you, I don't think I was thinking at all."

Sherlock silently agreed and gestured for Mr Watson to come inside. Mycroft soon joined them.

"Good gracious, you're going to catch a cold! I can have the servants fetch you some dry clothes." He said, looking Mr Watson up and down.

"No, it's quite alright." Mr Watson objected, but Mycroft was hearing none of it.

"Who's clothes?" Sherlock muttered in his brother's ears.

"Yours."

Sherlock looked at Mr Watson. He would look ridiculous wearing Sherlock's clothes. The man was about a foot shorter than him.

"I suppose you're wondering where Irene is." John remarked. "I'm afraid, much to her dismay, she had already committed to a prior engagement."

"We can easily arrange another time." Mycroft smiled in reply.

Sherlock and Mycroft waited in the drawing room while Mr Watson was changing. After some time, the man entered the drawing room looking rather amusing. The jacket he was wearing was too long, the trouser legs were rolled up at the bottom and his hair now looked rather stringy. Sherlock smirked to himself. Mr Watson noticed.

"I feel rather-"

"Dry, I imagine." Sherlock suggested.

"Yes…" Mr Watson gave him an odd sideways look before sitting down.

Sherlock stared at Mr Watson as he sat down. Mycroft started a conversation with him and Mr Watson gave prompt replies, but he did notice the attention from the other Mr Holmes. He was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable when Sherlock finally spoke.

"Are you feeling alright, Mr Watson?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm quite alright."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock stared at him even harder.

"Well, I have felt a bit odd since I got here." Mr Watson wiped his glistening forehead.

"I think we can say that riding here on a day like today was a rather unintelligent thing to do." Sherlock stated. "However you are clearly unwell."

"I should get back." Mr Watson remarked.

"You're in no state to go back now, you are too unwell. You must stay here." Mycroft insisted. "I will go and inform your mother and father of your condition, and let them know you will be staying until you recover."

Mr Watson sighed in defeat. Sherlock told one of the servants to make up a bed up and prepare some cold water for the sick Mr Watson.

Mr Watson got worse as the day went on, but Sherlock tended to him, dabbing a wet cloth at his forehead. The Watsons had insisted on seeing John as soon as they heard the news, but Mycroft had convinced them to wait until the next day, when he had had some time to recover. As the night went one, Mr Watson managed to get some sleep, even if it was disturbed. Sherlock sat by the bed with his novel, occasionally looking up from the pages to check on his patient.

The next day, Miss Irene came to visit her brother. She sat by him for some time, speaking to him, even though he couldn't hear. As she was leaving, she thanked the Holmes brothers, and told Sherlock that he was a 'forever in his debt' for looking after John. Sherlock was taken aback by this but accepted the thanks humbly.

The next morning, Mr Watson was well enough to go home, and he changed back into his original clothes which had been washed and dried. He had breakfast with Holmes' after he'd insisted that he didn't need to eat his breakfast in bed. Mycroft arranged for the carriage to be brought round to take Mr Watson home. Sherlock walked Mr Watson out to the carriage to see him off. Just before he climbed into the carriage, he turned to Sherlock.

"I just want to say thank you for everything you did for me. I made a very stupid decision and I'm afraid I burdened you with the consequences. I am sincerely grateful."

Sherlock didn't quite know how to respond to this. "You're very welcome, Mr Watson." He replied awkwardly.

"Please, call me John."

"Then call me Sherlock."


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock didn't quite understand how dabbing a man's forehead for a day could get two people on first name terms, but there he was, now able to call young Mr Watson from Knightly Estate his first name: John. It was such a boring name.

"You managed to make a friend, and you weren't even trying." Mycroft commented at breakfast the next day.

"Are you jealous?" Sherlock asked snidely.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Sherlock smirked to himself and finished the last of his tea. He fetched his hat and went outside to go for a walk when he was met by John Watson on horseback.

"Good morning, Sherlock." John tilted his hat.

"Morning," Sherlock was puzzled. He wasn't aware that Mycroft had given out any more invitations.

"I hope you don't mind me coming around, I just wanted to see if you wanted to come for a ride, and visit the estate for luncheon." John smiled.

"If this is some kind of 'thank you' for the past two days, you needn't bother, I-"

"Don't be daft, I want you to come."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Alright." He said finally, and he headed back inside to tell the servants to prepare a horse, and ready his riding clothes.

Several minutes later, Sherlock came back outside in his riding gear and climbed on his horse.

"Lead the way." He said to John, and they were off.

They galloped in silence for a while through a small wood and green fields until John initiated conversation.

"So I suppose you've seen your fair share of corpses then?"

This was not the conversation starter Sherlock was expecting, but it was far better than the usual small talk.

"I've seen many."

"Any unsolved cases?"

"Not if I'm involved."

"You're awfully sure of yourself."

"I have a right to be."

"Why is that?"

"I'm extremely clever."

"Is that so? Prove it." John challenged.

Sherlock brought his horse to a halt. John followed and they both stopped and stepped onto the ground. Sherlock stood with his hands clasped behind his back, standing up straight. He cleared his throat.

"You didn't sleep very well last night, as you are indeed recovering from your illness but there are still some effects. You spent most of the night tossing and turning; because of this, you got up this morning before everyone else and decided you'd fancy going for a ride. I can tell that this morning your horse wasn't prepared by the servant who usually does it, but by someone with not much experience. Perhaps the usual man is ill or has had to leave to take care of a sick family member. I also know that your family is sceptical of me, and your so called 'friendship' with me, as they find my hobbies inappropriate. It's likely that they worry I'll expose you to something you ought not to be exposed to in their eyes, such as a crime scene, or even a body. Even though you expressed your thoughts of such an endeavour being inappropriate, I think you long for a bit of adventure; a bit of action. You are not so unlike me in the sense that you find normal life extremely boring, because really, being very wealthy leaves you with nothing to do except pretend you're glad to meet people who you really don't give a damn about and go to luncheon and take tea in the drawing room and smile and fake laugh and make small talk until you finally get to go to bed only to realise that you have to do all the same things tomorrow."

"Well… that was quite amazing; and enlightening. I thought the saddle didn't feel right…" John smirked.

Sherlock half-smiled. "My deductions are much more interesting at a crime scene."

"Well, you know how I feel about attending a crime scene." John grinned.

"I'm sure something could be arranged."

"I want there to be a corpse, mind you."

"Certainly."

John turned his horse around. "Let's go to the house. I think it's about time for lunch."

After sitting through a lunch filled with small talk, John decided he was to show Sherlock around the estate. John led Sherlock out into the gardens when Irene caught up to them.

"Hello." She smiled at Sherlock.

He turned. "Hello."

"Are you well?"

"I'm fine." Sherlock looked to John for assistance, but he didn't notice.

"I know mamma wouldn't like it much, but I would like to come on a case with you one day. I do get rather bored here, not that I can tell my aunt that."

"I think if your mother doesn't like it then I cannot oblige."

Irene frowned.

"I'm just going to head back inside to fetch my hat. I'll be back in a moment." Sherlock walked away quickly, hoping John would sort out his cousin by the time he got back.

"Why is he being so unpleasant?" Irene asked John.

"I think that was a very reasonable thing for him to say. If mother found out, she'd be furious, and would probably ban both of us from ever seeing Sherlock again."

"If he was any other man he would take me somewhere." Irene huffed.

"Why's that?" John inquired.

"All the others did. They would do anything I liked if they thought it would win me over."

"But they never did." John added.

"Why does he talk to you so much anyway? You're not interesting, and I'm a woman; he should be courting me."

John rolled his eyes. "You are ridiculous. You sound like a spoilt child. Go back inside and leave Sherlock and I alone. I invited him over to show him around the estate, and I can't do that if you're on our tails the whole time."

Irene glared, but did what she was told. John couldn't believe the nerve of that woman.

Moments later, Sherlock joined John in the garden once more. They did a lap around the estate's grounds, which were quite large. They then headed back inside and John led Sherlock down to the end of the house he'd never been in.

"My father is a bit of an antique collector," John explained as he led Sherlock down the hall. "He collects firearms mostly, but he also likes strange-looking contraptions and odd things; although they are quite hard to come by."

John pushed open a door and led Sherlock into a large room, which was full of items. There were about twenty or more different types of firearms in glass cases, and there were shelves lined with spyglasses, cameras and even a microphone.

"This is my favourite room in the house. I like to read in here sometimes." John gazed around the room fondly.

"Has he ever used any of these?" Sherlock asked, running a finger across one of the cameras.

"I'm not sure. I could ask him. If I'm very lucky, he might let me have a go with it."

"These need dusting." Sherlock rubbed his fingers together to remove the dust.

"Ah yes, father doesn't like the servants to dust in here; he's worried they'll break something. He does it himself every few weeks usually."

John led Sherlock out of the room of curiosities and back into the garden to his horse.

"Do you want me to accompany you on the journey home?" John asked.

"No, that's quite alright; I know the way."

Sherlock made sure his hat was firmly on. He gave John a nod and what was supposed to be a polite smile, and rode off.


End file.
